In the first part of my mildly acclaimed memoir Conversations with Speyer, I write of how an early version of this text was lost forever. In a rather exacerbating twist to this tale, it turns out that the same fate may have befallen the handwritten final draft, only half of which has been typed up. I dare not cry the word ‘Lost!’ just yet; a simple ‘Mislaid!’ will do for now. Nonetheless, the fact remains that the notebooks in question are very much not ‘to hand’: hence the interruption in publishing further installments.
Call it a crisis, call it chaos, call it complicated: call it what you will. Needless to say, it is not unrelated to the important changes mentioned in a recent post. The move I will be making next week has required a certain amount of ‘temporary down-scaling’; i.e. throwing handfuls of books and clothes (in that order) into boxes and leaving the vast majority of our possessions to molder in storage like jars of old grain. One tries, of course, to take the task of moving seriously; to project one’s dear self into the misty future and imagine just which books and clothes one will need most when one is Over There. But one invariably fails. I shall no doubt find, upon arriving in Those United States, that I have brought with me the books I am least inclined to read, and the clothes I am least inclined to wear.